This blog makes references to suicide. If you are not feeling OK, you can contact the Samaritans at any time of day for free on 116 123. If you are concerned about someone else, do reach out to them. Advice on how to help can be found at: https://www.samaritans.org/how-we-can-help/if-youre-worried-about-someone-else/
Last spring, my sister took her own life. The emotional ripples from her decision continue to impact the lives of many people to this day. This blog sets out the physical and emotional impact of such a tragic life event, and will hopefully end on a positive note. If this seems rather self-indulgent, or seems like an attempt to gain sympathy, I apologise in advance. I certainly do not need more sympathy; the support from so many has been incredible, but I feel I will not be able to write about any other subject without it seeming utterly trivial, unless I write about the most profound event of my life. This is part of my attempt not to be defined by it.
First, a little about my sister, who was such a beautiful soul. We were not raised together and had different orbits around the centre of what was, at times, a very dysfunctional family. I was raised by my grandparents, while she was raised in the care system and we only crossed paths intermittently throughout our childhood. I think we both compartmentalised our lives, and I am fully aware that a fair few of Nikki’s friends did not know she had a brother – and vice versa.
Our lives were impacted to varying degrees, Nikki far more, by the chaotic and jarring influence of our Mother – I have covered her exploits in previous blogs. As we grew older, we saw a bit more of each other, particularly in the last few years, and she would regularly send our daughter thoughtful gifts. I knew she had a very difficult time in the care system, and I was so proud that she used these experiences in such a positive way to help young people and a wide range of people express themselves through writing.
Nikki could be ‘geet radgy’ and could fall out with people on a fairly regular basis, but she was totally non-judgemental – you felt comfortable discussing anything with her. To me, talking to her felt like a therapy session – and no one took themselves less seriously. We shared a commitment to social justice and thought the same way about many things. We laughed a lot about the darkest subjects, including depression, and she gave the best hugs.
Nikki had tried to take her life once before the previous summer, and I travelled up to the North East to see her. She was extremely upset about the impact of her actions on people around her and was very low. However, in amongst the grief and the constant reassurance, we did manage to laugh and had a memorable trip to Ashgill Force waterfall. This was a place that was a distant memory from a childhood with my mother, and somewhere I had been searching for for years, with such little success that I had started to think my memory of standing behind this waterfall was a dream.
We kept in touch over the following months, and she seemed to be in a slightly better place, although she did leave her job due to the stress it was causing her. However, by early 2025, I knew she was struggling again, and in the last few conversations I had with her, I couldn’t make her laugh like I used to.
I particularly remember a conversation we had while I was travelling up the A1 to Sheffield and she was asking my advice about talking at an event. She said she felt terrible, but did not want to let the organisers down. I know she ended up going to it and I heard that she absolutely smashed it – that was both from her and people in the audience! A few days before Nikki took her own life, I remember sitting in the garden talking to my wife Juliette and saying that I was worried about her, and it is to my eternal regret that I did not pick up the phone and give her a call.
I actually found out by voice note that Nikki had taken her own life. This might seem an odd way of finding out about such a personal and tragic event, but I will always be grateful to the person who left that message, as otherwise I would have very likely found out via social media. I cannot imagine how difficult that message would have been to deliver.
Obviously, it was an incredible shock and I completely broke down as I told Juliette what had happened. She was, and has been ever since, a huge support. I fully appreciate it is not an easy situation to deal with. I also felt a sense of failure and embarrassment. What sort of brother have I been if I haven’t been able to fix this? Why has this happened when we have been closer than ever in our lives?
Apart from the awkwardness of having to tell people, it’s obviously not a great conversation starter, and there is also the understandable difficulty people face when the subject is raised, as they worry about saying the wrong thing. I did not experience anyone saying the wrong thing, but if you are in doubt, a hug is always welcome in these situations.
In addition to the emotional impact, I experienced deep physical symptoms. The closest I can describe it is like when someone gives you a very big shock – and that shock response never recedes. It was like a big lump in my solar plexus, which was present most of the time. I recognised it as the ‘fight or flight’ response, as I had experienced a far milder version of this after someone jumped in front of my train in 2023. Yes, I have now experienced two perspectives of suicide.
With the amount of stress I was feeling, I checked my blood pressure with our home BP kit – the readings weren’t great, unsurprisingly – 155/104. My doctor advised I fill out a blood pressure report each day. Fortunately, the readings lowered as time went on, so I avoided any medication at this time. I was also offered medication to cope with the stress, which I declined, although this was to change a few months later.
I was signed off work and had to cancel several engagements. However, one thing that I continued with was watching football. I remember after the incident when someone jumped in front of my train and, as I was signed off from work, my doctor said: “Remember, you are not ill; go out and enjoy yourself when you can -just watch the self-medication!”
The depth of feeling football supporters have for their team and the elation and anguish it causes are no doubt an enduring mystery to those who do not follow sport. However, I can safely say that the banter of close friends and shared passion of the Sunderland football team, as they precariously negotiated their way to the Premier League that Spring, was a real lifeline during the darkest of times. It gave me a sense of normality and a means to escape from dwelling on the tragic event that had taken place. These people know who they are – thank you!
I am a huge advocate of counselling. I have covered my experience of counselling following a fatality at work in a previous blog: ‘Fatality on the Railway’. However, after this latest event, while I was signposted in various different directions, I never ended up on a course of counselling sessions. The nearest I got to it was an online Zoom meeting run by a UK counselling charity, where I met with others impacted by suicide.
As the participants shared their insights into their experiences, I was struck both by how long ago their loss had happened (up to 6 years ago) and the deep impact the event was still having on their lives. My wife had said to me that my life was never going to be the same, but I don’t think it was until I heard these people share their experiences that I really took this on board.
The funeral was a deeply moving experience and such a beautiful soul as Nikki would, of course, have beautiful friends. Our mother came to the funeral, and I cannot imagine how difficult it would have been for her to see her daughter laid to rest.
I was determined that something positive must come about from this dreadful situation. I immediately started planning a charity walk along Hadrian’s Wall in Nikki’s memory in aid of two charities very close to her heart. As well as being a welcome distraction, the need to train for this 5-day, 80+ mile walk meant a lot of time spent outdoors in the countryside and some time to reflect. However, as my previous counselling had revealed, I use ‘detachment’ as a coping mechanism and do not think I got anywhere near to processing my grief at this stage. On a brighter note, as Nikki’s son (and other friends at various points) accompanied me on the walk, it gave me a chance to get to know him better.
The walk, undertaken in late September 2025 in beautiful weather (thank you, Nikki!), was certainly what I would call the honeymoon period of the recovery path as set out in the graph below – with thanks to Lucy Easthope, whose book ‘Come What May – Life Changing Lessons for Coping with Crisis’ this has been taken from. When I came across this graph while reading the book earlier this year, the graph leapt out from the page at me as it mirrored my experience from the time Nikki had passed away.
After the high point of the trek across the beautiful landscapes of Cumbria and Northumberland, I resumed back to full duties at work (I’m a train driver) and was feeling ok. I desperately wanted to get back to a type of normal and was hoping I was ‘getting out of the woods’ in achieving this.
However, this was not to be. As the end of the year approached, I sank into a low which nothing seemed to shift and I felt like I was just going through the motions, feeling a lack of any motivation in virtually everything. This was most definitely ‘the slump’ set out in the graph above.
This was a rather scary time as, despite all the support around me, I felt I did not have a safety net – and there seemed no limit to how far I could fall. I had always appreciated, albeit second-hand, just how fragile life circumstances can be, and how judgmental some can be about those who have hit rock bottom, but I now have a first-hand and visceral awareness of how easy it is for our lives to spiral out of control. That I did not spiral out of control was due to a support network some are not privileged to have.
By the turn of the year and into 2026, I was not coping well at all. Ironically, for the situation I found myself in, Nikki would have been my go-to person for how to get through this period and I missed her more than ever.
Some of you may have noticed that I virtually disappeared from social media, and while I have always maintained a deep passion for social justice, I could not bring any motivation to most issues, other than my health and safety work for the ASLEF union and my campaigning on an accessible rail network – although the latter was scaled back drastically. I also found myself avoiding many social interactions, while at the same time putting on a fairly decent ‘front’ to people that I was OK.
I do not like taking any drugs, even paracetamol, although alcohol seems to get a pass! However, I had to admit defeat and went to the Doctor’s asking for medication, which they agreed to, after yet another questionnaire. I started on 50mg of Sertraline, and after our Mum died early this year, I moved up to 100mg. I had a complex and sometimes traumatic relationship with my Mum, which I think only Nikki would fully understand, but I certainly felt like I could do with something good happening in my life! The medication restricted me from my safety-critical role. Thankfully, I did not get many of the side effects that this type of medication can give – diarrhea and train driving do not mix!
I was asked if I thought the medication was working. It is a difficult question to answer as you do not know how you would be without it. However, a couple of months ago, when I had been on the medication for around six months, I made a conscious effort to improve my diet – cutting out the fast food, trips to Greggs and numerous slices of bread, replacing these with Greek Yoghurt mixed with fruit and walnuts, high-fibre cereal and tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil.
Coincidence or not, this was when my mood started improving and I quickly made the decision to reduce to 50mg of Sertraline, approved by the Doctor, and from which, despite some horror stories I have heard from people coming off antidepressants, I have had no ill effects to date. I have set myself a loose target of being totally off medication by the end of this year, but I will not beat myself up if this is extended.
I think it is way too early to say that I am fully out of the woods, but I am certainly feeling a greater level of motivation than I have had for some time. My sister was so full of life, and I am still struck by the realisation that I will never speak to Nikki again, but I can still hear her voice in my head, have still got many voice notes from her and am extremely grateful that despite her attempts to go offline, she still has a social media presence.
On a personal level, I still feel I have much to offer. Nikki’s natural empathy picked up on just how disappointed I was that my political career was not to be, but while my future may not be on the green benches of Parliament, I will still strive in some form to make the world, even just my small part of it, a fairer and kinder place to be. I know that would make Nikki proud.
I do not want the rest of my life to be defined by the death of my sister. At times, I have thought this would be impossible to avoid. I now at last have a sense that I can achieve this.
I hope the above gives some cause for optimism among those who have gone through a similar experience to mine. Thank you again to all those who have helped me through such a difficult period of my life.
Julian Vaughan
12th August 2026
Sky Hawkins Obituary by Jeff Price: https://www.culturednortheast.co.uk/p/a-tribute-to-poet-and-spoken-word
Our Bodies, Our Rules by Sky Hawkins:
‘Memories or Dreams’ by Julian: https://julianvaughan.blog/2019/08/02/memories-or-dreams/
Julian Vaughan 